


Capture

by WolfIsa



Series: In Enemy Hands [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers - Kinda, Face-Fucking, Guard/Prisoner - Freeform, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Roughness, Seduction, Smut, Some Plot, Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 18:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19950628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfIsa/pseuds/WolfIsa
Summary: Pyshavin, the only survivor of his crew in a raid of a Thalmor supply ship off the coast of Skyrim landed him in prison.  The head of the Justiciars in the province, Ondolemar is brought in to interrogate this hard-to-break prisoner with his persuasive tactics.  Thing is, this prisoner isn't new to this type of thing.





	Capture

**Author's Note:**

> I originally intended this to be a smutty hatesex one-shot but things change and here we are. Hopefully ya'll enjoy the still kinky elf sex. -throws confetti-

“Again, how many survivors?” 

“Only three, sir.”

“And from their side?”

“Two initially. One perished during transfer to the Embassy, seeming to prefer to take their own life than see what awaited. Now only the First-Mate remains and he hasn’t broken yet.”

“That is the keyword, soldier. _Yet_ ,” The Justiciar stated confidently as he shoved open the door to the prison.

Inside the first cell, hanging from the shackles was the persistent First-Mate. Seafoam hair shaved to a mohawk, white eyes seeming to lack an iris or pupil, blue-ish nearly translucent complexion, coloured nails, almost fin-like pointed ears… A **Maormer** of all beings. This surprised Ondolemar considerably. This wasn’t in the report. 

The elf seemed tired bags beneath his milky eyes that were staring at the floor, his skin was dry- little flakes on the lighter non-tattooed portions showing perhaps somewhat chapped from dehydration. He had a few bruises on his ribs and stomach just above his ragged trousers, some lacerations and slight burns that were slowly healing decorating various portions of his flesh. Whether that was from the ship wrecking or from the interrogation prior to the officer’s arrival, it wasn’t certain.

The Altmer approached the Torturer, inquiring why there was no mention of the prisoner’s race in the report, what methods the woman had tried and what was working and what wasn’t. 

“My apologies, sir. I wasn’t the one who wrote the report, just the request for your presence. The other prisoner was another sea elf as well. I’ve tried what I thought would work, fire spells, but they’re proving to have little effect. Tools proved to have more of an impact but again, not as much as I hoped without going barbaric. We’re trying depriving him of water save for enough to keep him alive and talking now but it’s been nearly a fortnight and he’s still hardly showing signs.” She paused when a dry chuckle echoed from the chamber holding the subject of their discussion, clearing her throat.

Ondolemar rolled his eyes at the chuckle, ignoring it and returning his attention back to the Torturer, “You may have been right in requesting me here. The Maormer haven’t been heard from since the Third Era so I am quite curious as to why they’ve suddenly made an appearance now and so far north as well. I will take over the interrogation from here, you are dismissed.”

“But sir, this could take so---”

“I said you are dismissed,” the man ordered again. 

The woman ceased her protest, nodded, saluted and left quickly locking the door behind her, knowing better than to argue with the head of the Justiciars in the province. Besides, if anyone could get the sea rat to talk, it would be Ondolemar.

When they were alone, Ondolemar approached the gate to the Maormer’s cell, standing just outside it and crossing his arms over his chest. “What is your name, pirate?”

It was silent at first then another chuckle rumbled out of the captive’s throat. “Pirate?” he repeated, his voice arid and scratchy. “I am an officer of His Majesty’s Navy.”

The Altmer passively let out a low snort at the response he received, reciting his question again. “What is your name?”

“Does that matter?”

“It does. Paperwork, you see?”

The prisoner scoffed, “ _Bureaucrats_... First-Mate Serpent Master Pyshavin.”

The Justiciar unlocked the gate and stepped inside, sauntering closer to the confined elf to inspect him closer. “Well, Master Pyshavin. You’re looking a little worse for wear. Wouldn’t it serve someone with your standing better to cooperate? It’s rather undignified to suffer like this.”

Pyshavin finally raised his head, weary eyes catching the first look at his new tormentor. Fairly attractive for high elf scum- he thought. He gave him a once-over, a very long serpent-like tongue peeking out to lick a chapped lip before he grinned. “Information in exchange for comfort? Is that it?”

“Precisely. It seems the torture hasn’t robbed you of your perception.” 

In a move that seemed far too suspect, the mariner agreed to the terms. Surely it wasn’t that easy? Ondolemar watched him skeptically even after the man opened his hands in a restricted gesture questioning if he was going to just leave him there or what?

Eventually, he undid the shackles, Pyshavin flopping to his knees with a crude groan. Apparently he was weaker than he seemed after two weeks of rough treatment. The Altmer left him on the floor, leaving for just a moment before returning with a jug of water from the table nearby.

“Here, drink.” He leveled the rim of the jug to the Maormer’s lips and the elf grabbed the entire thing so quickly he almost jumped in defense.

Glazed eyes shot a look to him as he tilted the jug, drinking from its contents. And drinking. And drinking. Until the vase was completely empty and he dropped it, his breath in pants, that tongue coming to catch a droplet that had dribbled down his chin.

It was fascinating to Ondolemar. He had heard of his race’s tropical cousins and their warmongering actions toward his kind but had never seen one in the flesh and here one was. Not in pristine condition but a lesser creature would have been far closer to the brink of death than he was. No, this corsair’s ability to stay this healthy suggested his kind were indeed very resilient. 

The officer assisted the prisoner up to his feet, noting the texture of his skin feeling more akin to that of a dolphin’s than actual Mer flesh. 

“How interesting…” he commented out-loud, prompting an intrigued glance from the other elf. 

“What’s interesting?” Pyshavin asked, his voice clearer, silkier now that he’d had refreshment. 

“Nothing, don’t mind me,” Ondolemar lied.

The Maormer dropped the question but he wasn’t buying the lie. He wasn’t buying any of this. The ‘treat thy enemy as thy friend’ tactic wasn’t unknown to him, and in fact he himself had employed it more than once before. It was just more fun to play along, at least for the time being- get some strength back before fucking with the other elf.

They made their way out of the cell, the Justiciar placing the sea elf in a chair before coming around and sitting across from him. There was a quill and inkpot sitting on the table between them and fresh parchment, he dipped the quill and began writing, being sure to keep checking on the other male from the corner of his eye as he did.

“I’m afraid I have you at a disadvantage. You’ve given me your name, but you don’t know mine.”

“Ondolemar,” the prisoner said, leaning back to rest against the seat. “I overheard your subordinates say it when they were wanting to send for you.” 

“I see. Did you learn anything else about me?”

“You’re a high ranking Thalmor officer, nearly everyone here answers to you with the exception of a select few. You’re usually stationed in Markarth but came here to specially deal with me. Oh- and you seem to have a fondness for Puer tea. Am I missing anything?” the elf listed off, ivory eyes meeting the other’s gold. 

The golden elf ran his tongue over his teeth, sucking down on them for a moment in slight annoyance. “It seems I may have the need to have a _discussion_ with some individuals.”

Pyshavin chuckled under his breath, “I wouldn’t be too harsh. The walls here are...thin.” 

“Duly noted. Now, I will need a few questions answered if you’re feeling up to the task?”

A nod and so the man continued.

“To start, I would like to know why the Pyandoneans had a ship all the way up north? Aside from attacking and raiding Aldmeri supply ships, that is?”

“What makes you think there’s anything more than that to our mission?”

The quill wavered in place for a second before moving again, “Because your kind always has more motivation than simple piracy.”

“Is that so? That’s news to me. As First-Mate, if we had more orders I’m certain I would have known.”

“Alright, then. If that truly was the only purpose, what was the goal?”

The Maormer started picking at his skin with green fingernails as he replied, “To disrupt the Dominion’s oceanic supply train, obviously.”

“Yes, but why? Were you working with the rebels?”

“Not particularly. It just so happens that their interests align with our own.”

The questioning continued for far longer than either expected and while the prisoner was freely offering information, it was all generalities that were already speculated. The Altmer had expected it to be like this to start with as there had never been a history of any detainee being open after being tortured and not being broken by that experience first. He was being sized up by the enemy just as he was doing the same and it would take time to show his dominance.

However, as long as his tropical kin was still cooperating in some fashion, this was proving to be enlightening. That night he only learned one piece of useful information, that there weren’t going to be any rescue attempts.

* * *

As the days passed, Pyshavin seemed to continue his willingness to cooperate, offering more in depth answers to the questioning and thus was given more privileges. He was granted a cot and suitable clothing to replace the ratty garb that barely dressed him before. Was given regular meals and even allowed to bathe eventually.

That was a most intriguing situation. As Ondolemar had been the only one to build rapport with the prisoner, he had to watch him as he bathed and it was almost as if the sea elf lacked any shame or modesty, giving a rather intimate view of the intricate tattoos covering his body- and they certainly covered a lot. The elf sat comfortably in the tub, taking his time in the water almost like being submerged in it was as important to his health as drinking it. He only seemed to acknowledge he was being watched on occasion, that long tongue of his snaking out to swipe at his lips whenever he looked at the Altmer casually causing his observer forcing himself to ignore the undesired flush of heat that would roll over him in his robes.

Despite this, Ondolemar watched him closely. Amber eyes following his hands as they ran the cleaning cloth along his arms. Across and down his torso, a hand following behind it gently squeezing the lean muscles, making sure to pay extra attention to his chest and abdomen near the conjunction where his hips met. Along his legs, down beneath the steaming liquid between them… It was clear that the Maormer was being deliberate with his technique, choosing to clean himself in such a provocative manner and even though the officer knew this, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

By the time the water went cold and the captive was finished, the golden guard was all too glad he wore thick robes that covered certain areas of his body quite thoroughly. His face never alluding to the fact that there was indeed an affect on him as it was dangerous to show it. 

The bath did stir a new line of inquiry that night however. Even since the first evening in the prison with Pyshavin, Ondolemar was more than a little curious about the anatomy of the other elf. 

“Our mating habits? We’re not beastfolk like those...what are they called? Those lizards…”

“Argonians. But surely it’s different in some way to normal Mer. You’ve things about your body…” the high elf started only to be met with laughter.

“I assure you. We fuck and have children the same as any of our kin. Mine were born nine months after impregnation, live, breathing air and living off their mothers’ milk like normal,” the captive revealed.

“You have children?”

“Of course,” he confirmed. “I prefer _other_ company but it is the duty of any officer in His Majesty’s employ to repopulate.”

“I take it you aren’t married then?” Ondolemar curiously added.

“No. The mothers of my offspring were just breeding partners. They receive money from the treasury for the care of the children as a result of the arrangement but I’ve no bonds with them beyond my genetics. I am free to sleep with anyone of my choosing...”

The Altmer found himself chewing on the tip of his quill during the explanation instead of writing which was also noticed by the elf across from him. That exotic tongue made an appearance again to moisten the other’s lip and prompted the Justiciar’s next question.

“Do all Maormer have that?” 

“What?”

“Your tongue?”

Much to Ondolemar’s secret delight, Pyshavin stuck out the entirety of the organ in question. It was certainly long, a few inches at least much like a serpent’s but lacked the fork at the end. He curled it in a near perfect circle, flicking it as it came undone and slithered back between his lips, sending another shiver of warmth through the Altmer’s robes. “Some do.”

The officer had to keep his mind from wandering. “And the tattoos? Are they significant to your station or personal?”

“Personal but great ice-breakers for certain _situations_.”

Ondolemar could just assume what situations the sea elf was implying.

* * *

Things continued for weeks this way. It was becoming obvious that the Justiciar was becoming more infatuated with Pyshavin but not a soul beneath him dared to say anything about it for fear of his reaction to the insinuation. To be accused of being even remotely interested in an inferiorly bred being, even another Mer, would surely throw the Altmer into a rage- and it wasn’t as though he wasn’t getting results. The more time spent with the Maormer, the more information was received. More than what the high elves had managed to gather after literal eras.

The problem was, however, the fountain was beginning to run a little dry and both guard and captive knew it. Unfortunately, by this point, Ondolemar was far too invested with the Maormer and couldn’t see what was to happen.

Pyshavin’s baths had become something of a dirty little secret shared by the two males. The sea elf would clean himself then spend the majority of the time in the water lavishing his own body with touches. Even going so far as to make it obvious when he allowed his self-administered caressing and the attentive gaze from the golden elf to arouse him fully. It was true, he had absolutely no shame as he would usually get himself off in a barely censored presentation of perverse depravity. 

It took everything Ondolemar had to not show a response on these nights though it started that those nights their discussions would be shorter than usual as he found himself desperate for some privacy. However, this night it was so much more difficult to keep his lust in check.

The other elf was in to his erotic ritual but had changed his positioning. He was laying over the sides of the tub, one arm holding his torso up, legs draped over the other side, spread wide with his length standing at attention outside the water. A tattooed hand stroked slowly and firmly across the flesh, milky eyes, despite lacking pupils very obviously staring directly at his captor as he let filthy sighs of pleasure spill from his mouth.

The sight was disgusting in its debauchery but Ondolemar was glued to it. He had long forgotten to keep a straight face, to not show the effects of this seduction and stood against the door mouth agape and moist. He could feel a bead of sweat roll down his temple and for the first time he lowered his hood, Pyshavin choosing just then to let out a particularly sinful moan.

Then it really began. The sea elf spoke, his voice low, velvety, “You like watching me, don’t you?”

The Altmer refused to dignify the question with an answer, still trying to keep some sense of superiority and calm but oh it was so _hard_.

“Come on. You can be honest with me.”

Again, no reply.

“You can pretend this isn’t doing anything for you...but I know you’re faking it. Admit it, Ondolemar. You’re aah…” he stopped to groan as he ran his thumb over the dribbling tip of his member, “Enjoying this… Probably more than I am being watched by you…”

That was all the Justiciar could take. A hand went beneath his robe’s skirt, undoing the ties on his trousers just enough to release his own aching cock and he stroked it beneath the fabric once, letting out a soft groan. 

“Oh there it is…” Pyshavin hissed witnessing the breakdown in willpower. He moved, bringing his legs back in the water and sitting on his knees, still rubbing himself now beneath the water again.

The loss of the visual irritated Ondolemar and he strode up to the side of the vessel, scowling. “You don’t get to watch me,” he commanded.

“I don’t? Well…” the sea elf drew out the last L in his word, sliding his tongue out and over his top lip, “How about helping you then? You’re so turned on...it has to hurt…”

Without warning, the Altmer forcefully grabbed the other’s hair and yanked his face forward to his groin, mashing his nose against fine leather. “So start then, slut.”

The grin that painted Pyshavin’s face lasted only as long as he took to move the skirting out of the way before he released his wet tendril-like tongue, coiling it around his guard’s golden shaft eliciting a relieved breath from above. His own hand started to move more vigorously until his bicep was grabbed by the high elf’s other hand and ripped away. 

“Don’t touch yourself. Hands on the side.” Another command but the Maormer obeyed to a degree.

The water sloshed quietly as he shifted closer to the wall of the tub, pressing himself against it and rocking against the smooth surface as he started to work at the throbbing member in his mouth, control of his head being held by the fist in his hair. He could take the entire length in while still having his tongue wrapped around it like a snake but it was when he loosened the firm hold and started sucking did his captor start really getting into things. 

Positively lewd moans began to fill the steamed air from both men, Ondolemar forcing his prisoner’s mouth to suck down more of himself harder and deeper the longer this went on. Eventually he grabbed the other’s head with both hands and started straight on thrusting into the Maormer’s mouth. It was slightly difficult to keep up with the pace, being able to feel the other elf’s member slide in and out so deeply and not being able to move his head but Pyshavin did what he could to wring every desperate shameful grunt and groan from the man fucking his face. The loss of control over Ondolemar’s pride turning him on more than their activities. 

Soon the Altmer finished, his hands holding the other’s head in place as he came into his throat, moaning deeply, “Swallow it…swallow it all..,” even as the other male was coughing around him. 

Once he was done riding out the waves of orgasm, Ondolemar released his grip allowing him to pull away and take a deep gasp of air and he flopped to the floor rather unceremoniously, both their breathing ragged and shallow.

Pyshavin went to move his hand to finish himself off but it was slammed back down on the tub’s rim by another and held there. Its twin dove into the water, not even bothering to note that the robe sleeve was getting soaked in doing so and it wrapped around his soft, smooth erection. 

“Tell me...do _you_ like this?” the gold elf murmured, stroking his hand up and down, teeth coming to bite at a fin shaped ear.

The sea elf groaned, hips gently bouncing in to the other’s hand, neck craning to the biting. “Being a whore?”

“ _My_ whore,” Ondolemar corrected, clamping down his hand almost painfully at the base of the other’s cock, stopping in place.

The other male hissed half in pain, half in pleasure through his teeth, pressing his forehead against his captor’s, looking him dead in the eyes. “You’re claiming me?”

The Altmer kept his hand still for another moment then restarted his ministrations, his mouth moving to trail down the side of his throat, speaking against his skin. “Better than being executed after you’re not useful anymore, wouldn’t you say?” 

After revealing that, he bit down at the crook of his neck rather harshly, drawing out a loud satisfied moan from the sea elf and causing him to climax.

In the throws of his completion Pyshavin rambled, “ _Aah_ ...I kind of figured that... _nnnn_ ...would...be my fate. Luckily for me…” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “You were easy to _capture_.” 


End file.
